“Destroy them?”
“Yes, sirrah; burn them—that’s what I mean.”
“Yes, my lord,” returned the butler with another bow.
He was surprised, but was too discreet a man to let any expression of it be seen on his countenance, which was as inexpressive as that of a wax doll.
He withdrew from the apartment in the same noiseless way in which he had entered.
After this time Lord Ethalwood lived as if he had no daughter.
Mr. Jakyl was the only person who knew how many heart-broken letters came to Broxbridge Hall; he never referred again to the subject to any living creature. He knew very well the uncompromising nature of his master, and knew, moreover, that it was more than his place was worth to be outspoken on so painful a subject.
So time passed on, and the name of the young girl who had been his idol in days gone by was never even mentioned; all trace of her had disappeared, and she was as one dead, and to all appearance even the fact of her having had existence was entirely forgotten.
His two sons he took great pride in. He hoped and expected that they would do honour to his name.
Reginald, the eldest, was proud and haughty like his father. The younger one was soft and womanly; he had not by any means so robust a constitution as his brother, but he was a general favourite, being especially kind and considerate to all who came within his influence.